


Chasing the Light

by WingedVioloncelle



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, book-verse, slightly AU, very slow build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 05:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3839533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedVioloncelle/pseuds/WingedVioloncelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the land the mist spread and over the mind the mist clouded. Was there truly a light beyond it? Has there ever been light in this World plagued by pain and loss? It did not seem to matter now. There was time no longer; the only way left to run was forward, forward. For an old promise. For a last kin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, this began as a silly movie-verse challenge story I wrote solely for the sake of revolutionizing clichéd Legolas/OC. It has turned into a primarily book-verse tale with a much greater goal. I hope it shows.
> 
> This is not a tenth walker story. And just as a heads-up, I live on polysyndeton.
> 
> Beta: Gwedhiel

**Tales of _Ephemeral Luminescence_**

Part I

**Chasing the Light**

~*~*~Chapter 1~*~*~

_She could not find them._

_She trembled in Mora's arms and searched as hard as she could with her blurred vision, trying not to stare at the hideous, reeking Orc carcasses upon the charred field of grass covered by dust and blood, or at the frightening ball of fire in the distance that consumed and chewed at what she once knew as "home". In the back of her mind she longed to close her eyes and limp into well-needed slumber; Mora had tried to coax her into it, with a wavering soft voice and warm arms that quivered as they rocked her. But her pounding heartbeats attacked and gnawed at her and made her sickly and feverish, and she could not even force her eyelids shut._

_She watched as the Elves pierced arrows after arrows into the bodies of odious Orcs. She watched as the Elves shielded and led more villagers to join her and Mora, villagers she had known and loved all year, like the spirited boy next door who played with her every afternoon, like the friendly tailor's wife who was seldom seen without her newborn babe in her arms. She watched as the Elves consoled the happy people of her acquaintance, people she had never before known to hold grief or tears within them. The boy next door wailed and thrust his fists against the grass browned by the flames of battle. The tailor's wife smiled no longer, and knelt upon the field like a statue, her lovely babe nowhere to be seen. These were all sights much too strange for her comprehension, and she did not at all want to see them._

_Still she watched everyone. Her eyes wandered always to those who moved still on their legs, and blinked strenuously at their faces. There would be a beam of ecstasy within her eyes as a head turned, any head; but then they met with the features of the face and all light within them was extinguished. Panic never troubled her for long, however; it was only one face after all. There were still many more faces she had to examine. She would turn and watch someone else, and soon she would find them. It was impossible that she would not, she who could recognize them in an instant, any time, anywhere._

_Now an Elf stood before her and Mora. They were talking, but she heard not a word, so vexed she was by he who was blocking her view. She wriggled within Mora's arms and stretched her neck to look past him, but he was too tall, or maybe she was too small. And Mora's arms tightened around and steadied her against her will. In spite of her vexation, she was surprised; Mora was not of a strong constitution, and she was often a hard girl to restrain._

_Suddenly the Elf crouched to observe her. She was content: now it would be easier to look past his shoulder and watch the moving people again. But when her eyes met his, her struggles ceased, and her lips parted in sudden horror and she gaped_ _._

_She remembered him. He had snatched her life from an Orc's axe, and held her in the burning heat and ran from the flames as fleet as the wind. He had said to her, "I will find your parents and bring them to you."_

_But at this moment he was alone._

_His lips were moving and he seemed sad. She could not hear him, ravaged still she was by her terrifyingly rapid heartbeats, and his lips quavered so minutely that she doubted he was speaking at all. She wanted to ask him where her parents were, but the sickly feeling in her stomach migrated and groped at her throat, and she dropped her jaw repeatedly and made not a sound._

_She knew not for how long she had gaped, but when he heaved a sigh and began to move away, a chill ran through her spine and she jerked. She felt as if she were suddenly doused upon by the icy waters of the Great River._

_She searched for faces no longer, and glanced wildly instead at everything around her. The people whose countenances she had examined gathered beside her and Mora. The Elves began marching toward the north. Fire no longer enveloped the village, save a flame in the distance that defied the darkness of the night and licked avariciously at the piled vile carcasses that had once been terrifying Orcs. It was all over._

_It can't be all over!_

_The frenzied heartbeats attacked her again, but this time they gave her strength instead of depleting her senses. She ripped out of Mora's warm arms into the cold of the night, gasping for what little clean air there was mingled with the foul stench from the flames, and ran as fast as her trembling legs could carry her. She felt the icy draught of winter cut at her face, her hands, and her legs through the ragged remains of her gown. She felt the despicable odours in the air invade her lungs and choke her. She heard for the first time the people weeping behind her, her sister screaming after her, the winds howling maliciously at her ears. Tears filled her eyes and she coughed, but she did not turn back. She kept chasing the Elves who seemed to glow, chasing the lights of what she thought was hope that seemed to fade away as the Elves disappeared one by one into the horizon._

_Her legs felt weaker by the moment, and the charred grass and soil began to leave abrasions on her bared soles; still she ran with all her power, for a while seeming in vain. The Elves walked and she sprinted, yet she could only see the glows from the Elves dim, dim, as despair gnawed at her sensations and drained her will with every second passed._

_But wait, there was a light still, dimming slower than the rest of them! Her whole body was in pain then, and she would have stopped and cried on her knees but for that single lingering light, and it was getting closer, closer. Sweat from a curious mingling of excitement and horror filled her palms, and she quickened her pace as if it was still possible._

_The odious, charred soil chose that moment to obstruct her toes, and she tumbled forward with a dreadful yelp. Even then she did not forget to reach for the glow that was in such proximity, and she was lucky: her tiny hand, red from consumption by the cold, clutched onto the tip of his grey cloak before he, too, vanished like the rest._

_"By Elbereth!" The Elf breathed as he turned swiftly and bent, laying his bow on the grass and taking her hand in his. He pulled her into a kneeling position, and crouched to face her. In the dark of the night he seemed as bright as gems, and through her trickling tears she could see no more than a pair of blue, warm eyes - the same eyes that had held her gaze moments after a strong pair of arms had snatched her away from the blow of a blood-stained axe._

_"Are you well?" he whispered, kindly concern in his voice._

_She scrambled to her feet and gasped for air._

_He clasped his warm hands around her shoulders to steady her trembling figure; then he tried gently to dust her filthy, torn gown, and spoke not a word._

_She croaked, "You promised."_

_He lowered his gaze. "I am sorry."_

_His voice was soothing, but at that moment it did not comfort her._

_"I cannot reach them. No Elf can reach them now."_

_She looked at him, dumbfounded. Drip. Drip. Tears dripped from her chin, and with every drop the tremors in her body became more violent, and soon she sobbed and choked on grief and all the air she had regained earlier from her desperate gasps was gone. Her head began to spin and she was nauseated, and she wished darkness would take her so she could wake up and tell herself it was all a nightmare. But it did not._

_The Elf was silent as he caressed her cheek, wiping her tears away as they fell. It seemed an eternity when her tears eventually quieted, but her head only hurt and spinned more._

_"Worry not. Your grief will not be permanent. You will see your mother and father again."_

_She inhaled sharply and gazed at him when he spoke, a new glimmer of hope sparking in her young heart. 'The Elves know everything,' Mama had told her. The Elves - an Elf capable as he who had saved her from death - couldn't possibly be wrong._

_He stared back at her and was silent again. The more she probed at the encouragement that was within his eyes, the more she was induced to believe. Slowly a smile began to return to her lips, though it was an ugly one that twitched whilst her face was still covered by remnants of tears._

_"Really?" she blurted, her voice wavering in nervous joy._

_His eyes arched and she knew he smiled, too._

_"Yes. Promise me; promise me to stay strong. Only then will you make them proud, when it is your time to meet them again."_

_She was too young to understand the meaning and the sadness that hid behind his gentle speech, too young to know of the cruelty in the hope he offered. All she knew was that an all-powerful Elf had given her the right answer and demanded from her a promise. It was more than enough to make her happy now._

_She mopped her face with her palms and beamed._

_"All right. I promise."_

_He smiled once more, and then his eyes faded into the air, and all the light that seemed to surround her slowly dimmed away until, at last, the cold wind harassed her frail body once more, and she was left shivering in the darkness, standing before her sister and friends, overlooking the ruins of her home._

_Suddenly all the fear and doubts returned. When and where would she see her parents again? How was she to keep such a promise?_ _How was she to stay strong, when she was never strong to begin with?_

_The frenzied heartbeats were about to attack her again and she felt tears gather in her eyes, but a glint on the ground suddenly caught her attention before the tears fell. For a moment curiosity overshadowed fear, and she crouched in wonder and reached for the light._

_It was a silver Elven dagger slightly oranged by the incandescence of the Orc-burning flame, and she held it over her head and silently gaped, mesmerized by the sheath's exquisite carvings and the blade's elegant beauty._

_The dagger's hilt warmed in her hands with each second passed, and she smiled and forgot to cry._

* * *

The lurking leader rubbed his fists in the shadows and grinned, his jagged, decaying teeth trembling in thrill and malice.

He did not have to strain his clouded eyes to see past the dense, leaf-shedding bush and discern that distant smudge of red; ooh, no need to squint at all, for it was very dark, and darkness was paradise for a goblin's sight.

And unlike his limited vision, a goblin's sense of smell was  _always_  at its best.

The leader parted his hideous, marred lips in morbid euphoria, and silently enjoyed the sweet odour of human flesh that quickly permeated the atmosphere as The Redhead sprinted closer. The cold autumn air smelled of metallic blood and salty sweat. It smelled of  _panic_. The leader licked his lower lip and ran a deformed finger over the polished cheek of his axe. The smell of panic excited him and boiled his dark blood like nothing else.

He could hear the feet now against the pitter-patter of raindrops, tap-tap, tap-tap, and snap! Twigs shattered. And she thought she was concealed at last, hah! Each of the dozens of blood-thirsty warriors under his command could notice her steps, and each longed to sink his teeth into her tensed flesh and drink the sweet draught that was her blood. The leader was certain of it.

Now he could see the woman's flaming mane wet with rain and perspiration, and her freckled pale face scratched by the malice of the forest and distorted by desperation. He could almost snort. The Men and Elves and Dwarves and any who dwelt above ground, with their smooth skin and ample hair and builds that were not malformed, were despicable, just despicable! He had not mercy for them, oh no, for there was always such a curious fire that burned within him when he cast eyes on any one of them, and he wished for nothing but to rip apart that smooth skin with his nails and batter their elegantly-formed bones into ashy powder.

"By Elbereth!"

Not even The Redhead's voice could escape him now, ooh, the faint, huffing whimper of an unfortunate little lamb, oh no. But  _Elbereth_? The leader involuntarily winced at the awful, awful name. Did she think an Elven fantasy could save her? The White One knew her every move all along. Her life was destined for his axe before midnight, and there was nothing any Elven nonsense could do about it.

 _Twang!_  A sharp broadhead of an arrow suddenly pricked the bush, dragged in momentum by the intricacy of the branches and halting inches from the tip of the leader's nose. He was startled, and then, in the blink of an eye, he was filled with rage.

Thought herself shrewd, did the fool, because she had noticed him in the darkness? Thought she could kill him in the darkness that was  _his_  realm? He barked furiously and leaped from hiding, and at a raspy call and a wave of his axe, the cacophonous snarls of his minions cut harshly across the silence of the night. Hideous heads were raised and eerie green irises twinkled in the dark. The Redhead hastily tumbled back, but it was too late, ooh, yes, it was way too late.

The leader cackled in twisted pleasure as he watched his subordinates scurry around The Redhead and seal her escape, their axes grinding against each other in raw, barbaric anticipation of his brutal order. His own fingers too twitched and trembled, and he longed at this instant to deal the blow and feed his hungry blade with sweet human flesh - but no. Not yet.  _'The jewel first,'_  The White One's messenger had said,  _'Lay your hands on the jewel, and only then you may do what you please.'_

The leader examined the woman who huffed and trembled and cursed and turned about wildly, bow in one hand, jewel in the other. His cloudy eyes filled with sadistic joy as they made out the empty quiver on her back. This was going to be  _very_  easy.

Clack. He took a step forward. Clack. He took another step. Clack, clack. The sound of his heavy footfalls as he approached The Redhead mingled with the cracking groans of the dead leaves that coated the wet ground, and with every clack The Redhead tossed more desperate glances at the axes that barricaded all routes for escape. The corners of the leader's deformed lips rose with every shiver he saw. Yes, yes, panic, woman; your doom would soon be upon you.

Suddenly a sharp light flashed, and as he heard the sound of unsheathing he felt the coldness of a blade before him. Alarmed, he seethed and jumped back; only then did he see out of a corner of his eye a silver sheath at the woman's waist, which had been hidden deeply within her cloak. The Redhead had dropped her bow, and held now a scintillating Elf blade in her left hand that would surely have peeled the back of his fingers, had he not retreated in time.

Curse her! Curse the sly wench and her unexpected manoeuvres!

The leader snarled in indignant mortification, but when he saw clearly the knife his anger ceased. He surveyed his surrounding minions, and together they laughed and jeered.

The dagger hardly exceeded a single foot in length.

The Redhead bit her lip nervously and tightened her grip on her pathetic little Elf knife. Her panicked motions only amused him further, and he cackled louder and all his subordinates cackled louder, and there were faint sounds of flapping wings in the distance as birds were frightened and fled from this chorus of sinister laughter.

"Impressive," Amidst his enjoyment, the leader found the breath to sneer. "The little lamb expects an Elfling's play sword to save her!"

"An Elfling's play sword! An Elfling's play sword!" Echoed his minions.

The Redhead cringed and glanced around her again, her scattered gaze at last returning to focus on the jewel that flashed weak bouts of crimson in the darkness. Suddenly she stood tall again and she trembled no longer. She held the dagger across her chest with one hand and clutched onto her jewel with the other and, much to the leader's chagrin, smiled.

"Elfling sword or not, it's an Elven blade. It may yet defend me. Now, I know exactly what you want, and why you want it. But do  _you_  know what it can do? Do you know that the moment you lay a finger upon it will be the moment of your undoing?"

The leader guffawed, so vexed though he was by the firmness in her voice and the taunt in her countenance. How dare she smile! "I have no time for words and nonsense. Give us the jewel, and we may spare you."

"Hah!" The Redhead tossed her head back and abruptly laughed. "I'd have to be out of my mind to trust a goblin."

"Then you shall die!" The leader roared furiously and shook his axe; it was the signal his minions had been waiting for, and all goblins seethed and shuffled their feet and closed in like a hideous, impermeable net crafted from reeking flesh. Cries of bloodlust and morbid excitement filled the air, and not one goblin heard the soft but pressed uttering of an Elven tongue by their prey.

Suddenly a force crushed at the leader, a force so great that stirred and squeezed and pounded at his innards, a force so overwhelming that it impaired his breathing and made him panic, he who had never before known fear! He fell on his rear and dropped his axe and screeched and writhed in pain, but even then he did not forget his prey; he forced his eyelids obstinately open, and saw The Redhead being levitated and thrust over his fallen minions by streaks of dark, crimson luminescence that gripped at her body like hard, tight chains. The cursed lights emitted a more sinister aura than even The White One's messenger.

But the leader must not let that deter him from his duty! She should have been sitting prey, and dead before midnight! The leader tried to stand up and launch into pursuit, but the force would not allow him; not until the wench was a fair distance away, seeming no more than the smudge of red he had earlier seen when he had first noticed her presence.

No! No! The leader scrambled to his feet and called for archers, but then he remembered he had not brought archers; he had thought them unnecessary against a single foe.

Cold sweat dripped over his forehead and mingled with the falling rain, and chaotic thoughts raced through his mind. How did he let her slip out of his hands like this? The White One's messenger had warned him only against The Other Redhead. The White One's messenger had never dropped a word hinting that This Redhead could use the jewel, too! This was all The White One's fault, and The White One would never admit it! Ooh, no, how could he even think of blaming The White One, when the Wizard gave him one duty that should have been simplest to fulfill in exchange for a high position in his Tower?

Was he to face The White One's wrath now? His body quivered as he felt fear yet again. The White One was known to be merciless to any disappointing subordinate, and The White One's messenger had made it very clear that  _he_ _must not fail_.

Groans of other goblins snapped the leader out of his brief daze, and he snarled at his minions and ordered them to chase after the prey. But none moved; all lay flat on the ground, reeled still by the strange crimson force that had deprived them of their delicious meal.  _Worthless fools!_  The leader cursed under his breath and paid heed to them no more, as he set off in the direction of The Redhead's flight.

He could still smell the metallic blood and the salty sweat in the air, and that must mean she was close. He had to catch her. He must not fail.

At first he ran on his legs, axe in hands, but soon he dropped his weapon and ran on all four limbs. He needed not a weapon now; he would rip her apart with his bare teeth, so vexed to the extreme he was by all the havoc this single prey had wreaked!

The scent of mixed blood and sweat was becoming stronger, yes, yes. No! Why has it become weaker again? He cursed and closed his eyes to concentrate on his sense of smell, and moved his limbs faster, feeling not at all the pain of hostile forest branches slicing against his coarse skin. His teeth ground against each other, and his lips quavered more dramatically as the scent began to augment again.

Ah, yes, the sweet smell of flesh. He remembered now exactly how excited it had made him when he first saw the full figure of The Redhead. He was almost just as exited now, as the scent brimmed his foul lungs with time passed; just a little bit more of it, and he would be upon her. Just a little bit - there! This was it!

He snapped open his eyelids triumphantly and stood on his legs and was ready to cackle! But no redhead awaited his threat and his demolishment. The moment he opened his eyes he saw a nearly indiscernible flash of green, and the next second a cold, thin, and very queer sensation penetrated his throat with a force more frightening even than the eerie crimson force of the jewel's hostility.

The leader's eyes had never opened so widely in his entire life. Suddenly it was so difficult to move them now, his cloudy irises. It seemed an eternity before he could bring them to look down, and he saw, with the sight of a goblin that was exceptional in the darkness, green fletchings protrude from the flesh of his very own neck.

Now he could no longer feel his limbs. He could still smell blood and sweat, though they were his own; and he could still feel pain and panic. But these sensations were not nearly as enjoyable to experience as when he had seen them in others. For the first time in his life he wished to scream in no emotion but fear, but it was too late. It was way too late.

His body slid into the wet soil by the forest's edge, and the last thing his widened, bulging eyes ever saw was the full, white Moon shining high in the centre of the sky.

The rain had ceased, and it was midnight.


End file.
